Conscience
by Leville
Summary: The night after "Snape's Worst Memory," James finds himself overcome with guilt. But not for the reason you think.


**Author's Note: I've recently dredged up a lot of Jily feelings, but with the exception of The Embarrassing Marauders Monstrosity I wrote in 2006, I've never wrote anything for them before. So this is probably ALL wrong. **

**I always believed that James saving Snape took place after Snape's Worst Memory. So when the Prince's Tale proved me wrong, I wondered, "Well, then ****_what_**** was the start of James' journey into maturity?" I got this idea and well… like I said, probably all wrong. :P  
I wanted to try, okay? **

James Potter sat in the Gryffindor common room with his three best friends. To anyone who didn't know better, they appeared to be studying for their last few O.W.L.'s. In actuality, they were starting to plan their next full moon adventure. Things had been going so well this year— with the exception of Padfoot's prank— that they were getting bolder. They were considering leaving the Shrieking Shack next time and exploring the rest of the grounds. James was all for it. He and Padfoot could easily keep Moony under control. Moony however, had some reservations.

"I don't know," said Moony in an undertone. "What if—"

"Always the worrier," huffed Padfoot.

"Well, I think you might understand why I don't completely trust you—"

A door slamming loudly drowned out the rest of his sentence.

Evans, who had gone up to bed early, came marching down the stairs from the girls' dormitory, wearing a dressing gown. Mary Macdonald trailed along behind her, looking slightly afraid. Evans' face was screwed up in a furious grimace, the sort of look she usually reserved for James. However, she didn't approach him. She made a beeline for the portrait hole, even though it was ten minutes after nine o'clock and she wasn't allowed out at this hour unless she was on prefect duty.

Mary remained behind, hovering awkwardly a few feet from the exit. She bit her nail, clearly troubled.

As surreptitiously as possible, James' turned his head and watched Evans leave, catching a glimpse of Snivellus skulking out in the corridor. James felt his anger from that afternoon flare up again. _That sunuvabitch. Where does he get off coming here, after what he said to her today? And he's calls himself her friend… _But then James managed a smirk. _Well, considering how angry she looked, maybe she'll _finally_ let him have it._

Cheered by this, James turned his attention back to his friends. Moony was politely looking down at his notes. Wormtail as always, seemed oblivious. Padfoot offered up a lopsided grin, one eyebrow raised.

James didn't need to respond out loud. _Shut up_.

"So are we going to try to leave the Willow next week?" asked Wormtail after a pause.

"I think so," said Padfoot, glancing over at Mary Macdonald and making sure she wasn't listening in. "Moony'll be easy enough to convince, once… you know... the fury little problem acts up again."

Moony scowled. "Now you _know_ why I don't trust you."

After a few more moments of friendly bickering, the portrait of the Fat Lady opened once again and Evans reappeared. James grinned when he saw that she was still fuming. Ah-ha! _Looks like Snivellus won't be forgiven so quickly_.

Mary, with a mixture of sympathy and confusion on her face, held her arms open to Evans. "You all right?"

James' felt his smile slip as he caught site of Evans' face just before she hugged Mary. She did not cry, but her face crumpled for the briefest instant as she leaned into Mary's shoulder. "Would it be heartless if I said you're so much better off without him?" Mary asked. "Honestly, Lily. You _really _are better off in the long run."

She wasn't just angry. She was hurt. And then James understood. Her friendship was Snivellus was over for good and— for God knows what reason— that upset her. Evans quickly let go of Mary, her face now blank, and the pair made their way back up the stairs. An unfamiliar sensation twisted in James' stomach.

_It's your fault_, said the voice of his conscience, which James hadn't heard since the night Padfoot tried to play that trick on Snivelly. It always sounded remarkably like Moony. _If you hadn't done what you did, he might not have said that word. _

_So what?_ James argued, fiddling with a hole in his armchair's upholstery. _I did her a favor. She tried to help him and that was how he responded? Who needs "friends" like that? Not to mention that he and the rest of his mates are in training to be Death Eaters, anyway. They _torture and kill_ Muggles and Muggle borns. It had to happen sooner or later. _

_But it didn't have to happen like this. Did she _look_ like someone did her favor_?

_No_. James tugged out some of the stuffing from the armrest and felt the gnawing pain in his gut again. Guilt. He felt guilty and confused and he hated it.

_You've been hoping this would happen. You _wanted_ this to happen because you thought you'd get a better shot with her if it did. Well, now it has. And look what it's done to her. Maybe she was right about you. Maybe you are just as bad as Snape_.

Feeling a mad desire to both run up the stairs and apologize to her and kick something, James shut his book with a sharp snap, hoping the noise would clear his head. It didn't.

Damn it.

He pulled a face and stood up abruptly, still clutching his textbook, the bits of stuffing from the armchair falling to the floor.

"You all right, mate?" Padfoot eyed him, sounding concerned, if slightly weary.

"Yeah. I just have a bit of a headache. I'm going to bed." He flung his book carelessly over his shoulder and back onto the armchair. He stomped up the stairs to his dormitory and tried to tune out the lecture from his conscience.

It was three days before he got a moment alone with Evans. He was walking back from polishing trophies with Filch. Padfoot had been forced to fulfill his detention with Slughorn, cleaning out rusty old cauldrons.

He saw her on the fifth floor landing. It looked like it must be her night to patrol the corridors. He caught her eye and raised a hand in greeting.

"You've got ten minutes to get to Gryffindor tower. Get going, Potter," she said tersely.

He was nearly out of earshot from her before he turned around. _Do it now_. "Evans. I— I wanted to apologize. For the other day, with Sni—with Snape."

Evans rolled her eyes. "If your apology is sincere, and you'll forgive me for doubting if it is, perhaps you should save it for Severus. Not waste it on me."

He took a few steps towards her. "I am sincere."

Evans scoffed. "Right. Except, you hate Severus."

"True," James admitted, unabashed. "But… I don't hate you. And it occurred to me that if I had left him alone, he wouldn't have said _that_ word to you. So there it is: I'm sorry. You got hurt and I never wanted that."

And with that, he hurried away, marveling at how much easier it was to talk to her—and even get rejected by her—in front of a crowd than it was to have this simple conversation alone with her.

The End.


End file.
